Silver Glitters Like Gold
by Confessed Geek
Summary: Fate, never having been content with Harry Potter's Golden Boy ending, tosses the die one last time. The results will lead to a world where loyalty does not only come dressed in hues of red and gold. It will come in the green of the boy's eyes and all those of his first real home. Dumbledore will not be pleased. But that only makes it more fun.
1. Fate Sets the Board

**AN:** _It has been brought to my attention that there is not quite enough information for the reader to grasp onto. So, I would like to thank the guest who pointed this out to me. The first three chapters are rewritten/added onto. I hope this makes for a better story._

 _People have commented about me losing a lot of readers because of my Oc. Believe me, I know Oc's aren't popular. I myself am very peculiar about them. That being said,_ _I feel that, much like Ooc fics of Harry when he's dark/raised differently or when people write up a character like Daphne Greengrass who isn't really mentioned in the books, that Oc's can be used if written well and interesting to read if their involvement in the story is more than just a romance or a couple of lines added to the copy-and-pasted chapter of the book._ _I'm not changing the story - I already did to add more information about my Oc because readers said they needed more. She is not involved to enact some fantasy I've had of being with Harry or any character. She is a part of the story to influence change in **Harry's** story. (a.k.a grey!Harry)_

 _"Past"_

 _'Thoughts'_

"Speech"

 ** _Added warnings: This story will start second year and build up into an Au. Will include manipulative (but not Evil!) Dumbledore, Ron Weasley being a prat, and a Female Original Character. Story will be told in third perspective from mostly Harry's perspective (however other characters will have interludes)_**

 **Disclaimer:** **_I own nothing of Harry Potter; but it is very dear to my heart as it is to many other's in the world. So, I hope I do right by the story that made all our lives a little more magical._**

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 _"The conundrum of free will and destiny has always kept me dangling." - William Shatner_

 **-o-o-**

If there was one thing Fate loved, it was fucking with the lives of mortals.

Being an eternal being had been downright boring before the guy upstairs, whatever those amusing creatures called Him these days, had created them.

At first, she loved to play with them like those puppets in puppet-shows young children never seemed to tire of in any age. She would dance them along the stage, pulling all the right strings to make them do anything that would amuse her. Naturally, this got tiring after a few millennia and Fate wallowed in her boredom. Barely bothering to touch the toys laid out for her.

Shockingly, this turned out to be for the best. The mortals were even more entertaining when she had nothing to do with their actions! They loved when they wanted; raged war when they wanted; hell, they did both in the setting of a bedroom when they wanted! Fate was giddy upon discovering this; her boredom becoming something of myth as she simply sat and _watched_ for a few thousand years.

Still, there were some mortals who were too delicious to _just_ watch. These chosen mortals, Fate carefully plucked a few strings like a bard would. Not to control as she had before, but rather to offer new directions and to stir up just a bit of confusion and – therefore- trouble. Trouble – that in the long run could amount to anything depending on the humans. War or peace; love or hate. Perhaps all those together. Fate did not particularly care about the destination, more about the entertainment the journey could bring.

Of those chosen ones she did have a particular favorite; two if one was to count the man who was always entwined with him.

Harry Potter.

Oh. She loved him from the moment of his birth. Bright eyes that shone like freshly polished emeralds gleamed even as he cried in his mother's arms, a tuff of black hair sticking to his forehead. The man upstairs had outdone himself with this one, not only with appearance but with the magic. The magic _called_ to her, _welcomed_ her. How could she have stayed away?

Although it would surprise him if he ever found out, Fate did not interfere much with Harry Potter's original life. She gave a nudge there, advice from a stranger there and sprinkled a bit of irony to keep herself amused. Not that it would have been needed in the end anyway.

However, this time around she found she quite despised the ending of the story. What was this cliché? What was this _lie?_ Harry Potter was more than a golden boy! So, she intervened. Making alternate timelines and universes and pulling just enough strings in all of them with more interesting results. Yet, they were still not satisfying enough for her to call quits.

That led her back to the original timeline where she came up with a plan. Perhaps the problem was not the way the board was set up, but that it had been missing a piece? Once this is done, Fate sits back and regards the board with a skilled eye. A moment later, a smile graces her lips.

Yes. This would do it. _This_ would be Harry Potter's ending.

Just like that, the game begins.

 **-o-o-**

 _May 21st 2005_

 **-o-o-**

This day is just like any other in London, except for the unusually clear skies. The sounds of moving cars, heavy footsteps and laughter fill the air. It is a wonderfully normal day by muggle and magical standards alike.

At least, that's how it seems.

Perhaps, if one, magical or muggle, had stumbled into the little forested park just above the Ministry of Magic they would have seen something peculiar. They would have seen a man in dark robes muttering madly to himself while turning a little hourglass hooked on the chain. (A muggle would have not know what it was. A wizard or witch would be wondering where exactly he had been able to find one as they had all been thought destroyed nearly ten years earlier.)

If they had been brave enough to come closer, the person may have also noticed a circle with strange markings etched into the stone around the man. They also would have seen them begin to glow with a golden light while the man would increase his mutterings at an alarming rate.

Perhaps, if they had looked up, in a moment of indecision about their sanity, they would have seen a pair of storm-eyes gazing at the scene in unclothed wonderment.

But - as it was - there was no-one except the wizard and an eleven year old girl to witness the scene. Therefore, there was not one person who saw the flash of light or, when it dimmed, the disappearance of those two individuals.

 ** _-_ o-o-**

 _May 21st 1991_

 **-o-o-**

The Unspeakables have dealt with many things over their long careers that they cannot - well, speak about. However, having a screaming girl fall from the roof of the time-chamber followed by a heap of smoking robes certainly is a thing they definitely need to discuss.

Honestly, the one thing they don't have a protocol for!

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 _Feedback is greatly appreciated._


	2. The Unspeakable & The Time Traveler

_Wow! Thank you all for the amazing feedback! To answer those wondering about grey!Harry, that is definitely where this will be going, although it will take some time._

 **"Written quotes"**

 _ **writing**_

 **Disclaimer: _You all know I own nothing from Harry Potter._**

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 _"People assume that **time** is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually, from a nonlinear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more **like** a big **ball of wibbly** - **wobbly** , timey-wimey... stuff." - The Tenth Doctor_

 **-o-o-**

The Unspeakable really did not know what to think of his new assignment. When he had taken an extra vow of secrecy in order to take the job and led to a room deep within the Department of Mysteries he had expected to see something...well, _impressive._

Instead, he found a girl no older than twelve sitting at a desk surrounded by books and furiously scribbling into a notebook. To say the man had been disappointed at first would be putting it lightly. While he did not think that this assignment was worthless due to the extra security measure, he had not been expecting to play baby-sitter to some girl. Briefly, he wondered if this was payback for the practical jokes he played on his co-workers who were typically not as good-humored.

However, upon his entrance the girl had smiled and stood up. "Hello, what's your name?"

"Alfred." He tells her simply

The girl's eyes light up: "Oh! Like the guy from Batman!"

It is when he laughs at the girl's statement that he realizes why he was chosen for this assignment (whatever it is). Most Unspeakables came from either pure-blood or half-blood families (like _that_ is a consequence; bribery...cough, cough) who have grown up in the wizarding world. Hence, they would have little information about the Muggle world. Muggle-born Alfred however, knows quite a lot about both worlds.

 _'I still don't get what's so special about her.'_ He can't help but think, only being pulled from his thoughts when the girl holds out her hand for him to shake, introducing herself with a wide grin.

"Hello, I'm Angela the Time-Traveler, pleased to meet you." The girl then turned away and went back to her desk like nothing happened, unable to see the Unspeakable's sagging jaw.

From there, it is safe to say the man's opinion changed.

It really should not have been able to get more interesting from there, but it did. The file he got an hour after meeting the girl contained several pages of an interview with her under Veritaserum.

Questions like: **"How did you get here?"**

Followed closely by responses like: **"I don't know. I was just going on a walk in this little park when I saw some guy dressed in black robes talking to himself like a lunatic and holding a weird hourglass thing. Then these weird markings around him started glowing and _poof.._.I end up here."**

 **Question: "When are you from?"**

 **Response: "Two-thousand and Five."**

Yeah, Alfred had split quite a bit of coffee on himself reading _that_ and after reading more into the file he opted to keep the cup a fair distance from himself.

As it turns out - the girl had found out she was a witch at the tender age of nine from a social worker who was married to a wizard. From there, the woman had offered the girl the choice of being sent to either France or England so Angela could hopefully get an education from Beauxbatons or Hogwarts (her country of origin was Spain - not that Alfred was surprised with her slight accent.) When she was ten, Angela, along with two older boys (both fifteen, named Daniel and John) who she had joint files with was placed into England's Foster-Care system and sent by train. However, something had happened on the trip and the three ended up hitchhiking (and pick-pocketing) their way to London. When pressed the girl had refused to say what happened - only that "Things didn't work out..." (If Alfred had to guess, the three made it to their foster home and ended up running away for some reason or another and decided to go to London, probably to seek out the Leaky Cauldron.)

After two or so pages of her background information, several pages explain the things the Unspeakables have founded of the girl's appearance in great detail.

Essentially, Unspeakables were able to identify the object the man had as a time-turner from the girl's description. It seems that Angela had gotten too close once the runes were activated and so was taken along with the madman through time to fall through the time-chamber's ceiling and into the Unspeakable's laps nearly a year ago.

The madman was not so lucky. All that had been left of him was some smoking robes -

In the file, it is noted that they still have not found out why the girl survived the trip and the man hadn't. Distance from the runes had been a theory, age another, dumb luck quite a favorite; with the most probable one being a mixture of all those things.

Naturally, the Unspeakables were required to take a vow to never ask the girl anything about the future or try to exspell it from her in anyway (some did this with much reluctance.) It was too dangerous, apparently, to ask about the future. (Alfred can feel the bitterness seeping through the report.) All they could do was ask Angela if she had any plans to change the future, (she had responded in the negative) Because of this, added with the fact that she was underage, the Unspeakables could not technically make her take a vow. (Meaning, they did not find the need to make her take one)

After all that was settled, the Unspeakables had to figure out what to do with her - especially with the school-year for Hogwarts fast approaching and Angela being of age.

A few pages of the report are dedicated to explaining how the Unspeakables had opted to keep the girl off the registry for Hogwarts for one year to give her time to adjust and for them to make suitable arrangements if her stay ended up being long term. (and give them time to study her humanely) Thankfully, the Unspeakables had the sense to provide the girl with education for that one year (whoever wasn't busiest at the time and had fair knowledge in a certain subject would teach her the basics.) With that, came books...and more books. Even without reading the file, Alfred could tell that the girl had quite a thirst for knowledge. Books upon books from simple spells like wingardium leviosa to complicated runes and astronomy. _**Highly intelligent** _ \- read a simple note. Having spent quite a few months with the girl and used to her wit and theories, and the occasional habitable pickpocket which he had to learn keep a sharp eye for, Alfred had snorted: _'No shit.'_

That being said, once the year was up and she began to go to Hogwarts, the girl could not be expected to stay in the Ministry. So, part of Alfred's job was finding a reasonable foster family for the girl. Hardly a month after beginning the search, a request for guardianship came from the well-known Florean Fortescue of Diagon Alley. During the girl's countless visits to Diagon alley to get new books or for fresh air throughout the year (all of which Alfred had to tag along for) - it seems the middle-aged man had grown quite fond of the girl who always ordered a different ice-cream with the goal to try them all.

When Alfred told Angela this, the girl had beamed - immediately accepting the offer with enthusiasm that made Alfred smile. The fact that she would probably only get to move in next summer when all the paper-work was done and Alfred would still need to keep in contact with her didn't dim her mood in the slightest. She ended up surprising the Unspeakable when she had suddenly thrown her arms around his waist in a hug.

In the first week of July, a familiar letter came addressed to one Esmeralda Angela DeMara.

"Esmeralda?" Alfred inquires when the girl shows him the letter practically shaking with glee.

The girl shrugs: "I know, it's pretty. But when you grow up in the system you learn pretty quick that kids will make fun of anything nice you have because they may feel lacking. Well, either that or they think that because your name is so girly - you _must_ be an easy target." She grins - a sly, trouble-filled smile. "Although it was nice to see them proven wrong - it was still annoying to always hear people trying to pick fun at your name and my brothers couldn't always defend me. So, I just started going by my middle name and got pretty used to it after a while."

After that conversation, Alfred seriously pondered on what house the girl may belong to. _'Ravenclaw will be a definite option...'_ He thinks, looking at all the books. Arrangements were made via letter to explain that the girl would be needed to be placed in second-year - a month later, Angela is brimming with excitement as they side-along apparate to the Leaky Cauldron before entering Diagon Alley to buy her school supplies with government funding.

After buying her robes, and much of her potions ingredients, they go to get her wand (she had been using Alfred's spare in order to show she could do all the first year spells) After several tried wands, and an increasingly giddy Ollivander, Angela takes an elegantly carved cedar wand and a warm breeze brushes through the room. "Oh - how interesting." Ollivander gasps excitedly.

Angela tilts her head, regarding the man thoughtfully. "What's interesting, Sir?"

"Every wand is truly unique in my shop, Miss. DeMara. "This particular one is cedar wood, containing a phoenix feather core 12 inches and slightly springy flexibility...a fine, if unusual wand as phoenixes tend to be more secluded than cedar and their loyalty is hard won." He then eyes Angela strangely. "I suspect we will see more of you, Miss. DeMara."

After paying and thanking Ollivander, they visit Florean Fortescue whom Angela happily showed off her wand to. Half an hour later, she asked if she could go to Flourish and Bolts while Alfred went for a drink with Florean. With a smile - the man let her go.

* * *

A small note from Pottermore on wand woods from Mr. Ollivander: **" _Whenever I meet one who carries a cedar wand, I find strength of character and unusual loyalty._ _The cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception...I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them."_**

 _Feedback is much appreciated._


	3. Peacocks and Storm Eyes

_Wow...thank you all for the amazing feedback!_

 _Hope you all enjoy!_

 **Disclaimer:** **_Own nothing you have seen in Harry Potter books/movies. If I did, I would be living the good-life..._**

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 _"Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."_ \- Anais Nin

-o-o-

Harry Potter, just three weeks after turning twelve, opens his eyes to the ceiling of Ron's room in the with furrowed eyebrows. He had been having a strange dream, or maybe it was more than one dream? Either way, the images he can grasp before they slip away make him puzzled and just a bit weary.

In the dream – dreams, he had been…different. Not different in the 'I'm a Wizard' way. More like: 'I wasn't myself' different. Well, he had been _himself_ in the dreams. He _was_ Harry Potter. But he was also _different._

Harry groaned, rubbing at his head. _'That doesn't make any sense.'_

It really didn't. Except; it _did._

Harry rubs his head again, feeling the beginning of a headache and gets up to splash cold water on his face. By the time he's done all remnants of the dream(s) have faded and the young wizard really does not feel the need to summon them and a headache again.

After a breakfast that far exceeded the burnt toast he got for the summer at the Dursley's, Harry and the Weasleys made their way over to the fireplace. There, Mrs. Weasley had instructed him on how to use the floo. He must not have spoken clearly.

He had fallen face-first into a stone floor; breaking his glasses and covered in soot. Once he got his bearings, Harry had looked around. Wherever he was, it sure as hell was _not_ Diagon Alley; last he checked, none of the stores there sold human hands or skulls. Things only got worse when Malfoy Junior and senior showed up, forcing him to hide in a cabinet where he prayed that luck would be on his side just this once. Thankfully, luck seemed like giving him some slack today; the Malfoys soon left the shop without ever realizing he was there. Then, Hagrid found him and lead him back to the cheerfully lit streets of Diagon Alley where the Weasleys were in a panic searching for him.

However, Luck's generosity was not to last. Only an hour or so later, Harry finds himself being pulled to the front of Flourish and Bolts by a blonde peacock trying to impersonate a human. "Nice big smile, Harry." The man instructs him cheerfully, his grip uncomfortably tight on Harry's arm. Harry frowns; managing to pull his arm from the man's grasp only to be pulled back just as the camera goes off. Blinking furiously at the white spots in his vision, Harry just registers the man giving him a free book set before he stumbles his way back to the Weasleys.

His foot catches on someone else's and Harry feels himself falling. A small hand steadies him by gripping his shoulder. "Whoa, you ok?"

Harry turns to see a girl around his age staring back at him with storm eyes. "Yeah, thanks." The words rush out as he stares back at her, though he makes no move to pull away. He's not quite sure why.

"That's good." The girl says with a smile. It's a rather nice smile, Harry decides. One he cannot help but smile back at. "I thought that the photographer was purposely trying to blind you. Guess he didn't succeed."

Harry snorts, adjusting his grip on the books as the girl let go of his arm. "Good. I'm already near blind as it is without these." With his free hand he taps his glasses, drawing a small laugh from the girl.

"That's a shame." She states.

Harry frowns: "Why?"

She shrugs, an almost _sly_ smile tugging at her lips: "Because you have really nice eyes." Harry can only gape at the girl as heat floods to his cheeks. The girl's smile widens at the reaction, showing a row of teeth. Good-natured amusement dancing in her storm eyes.

Suddenly, Harry is jostled again, making him glance down as his glasses are knocked askew. Regaining his footing, the green-eyed wizard goes to ask the girl if she is fine. She's gone. Harry frowns, quickly glancing around the crowd for any sign of the girl. Finding none, he makes his way back over to the Weasleys where he dumps the books into Ginny's cauldron. "I'll buy my own." He assures her.

Everything else is a blur after that. Malfoy Junior and Senior showed up, which led inevitably to Mr. Weasley and Malfoy Senior knocking over several bookcases as they exchanged blows. Then, Hagrid broke them up and Harry and Ron said goodbye to Hermione before Flooing back to the Burrow.

Harry's dreams that night are made of fleeting images, spikes of indistinct emotions and that odd feeling of not quite being who he was again. In the morning, most of it is lost to him. But, as he stares up at Ron's ceiling Harry remembers hearing a strange, gleeful laugh that didn't sound quite _human._

 _-o-o-_

Fate smiles.

* * *

 **Quotes from** **Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets** Chapter: **At Flourish and** **Bolts** **:** _"Nice_ _big smile Harry."_ Along with: _"I'll buy my own."_

 _Feedback is much appreciated._


	4. Cunning means Evil, Right?

**Disclaimer: _As you all know, I own nothing belonging to the fabulous J.K Rowling, otherwise, I'd be making a lot more money._**

* * *

 _"Problems are not stop signs, they are guidelines."- Robert H. Schuller_

-o-o-

 _September 2nd 1992_

-o-o-

Emerald eyes open to a canopy of red hangings. Despite being used to this sight from last year, a smile tugs up the chapped lips of Harry Potter who touches the red bedding with a newfound appreciation. He thinks he ought to feel this way, since he had been a hair-width from never seeing this bed again. Sighing, he lingers in his comfortable bed for a few more minutes before getting up so he can get ready for the first day of classes. Classes – another thing Harry finds himself looking forward to more than usual.

By the time breakfast is over, he regrets tempting Fate by waking up in high-spirits.

Mr. Weasley is facing an enquiry at work because of what he and Ron did. To top it off, everyone now knows about it too. Thankfully Herbology doesn't go too badly, except for Lockhart's random (and unneeded) advice on how to handle fame. Transfiguration however, convinces Harry that he lost his memory of last year whilst he had been wacked around by the Whomping Willow.

Harry's just glad it's lunch, to be honest. He spent at least half-an-hour talking with Ron about Quidditch when Colin Creevey comes over to ask for a photo. Although he is slightly unnerved by the boy's excitement of meeting him, Harry did appreciate that the kid had at least a _sked_ if he could have a picture instead of just letting the camera go off in his face.

Those sentiments however, quickly evaporated when Malfoy heard. Now Harry is standing face to face with the blonde prat, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug smirk right off his face. "Jealous?" The blonde scoffs at Colin. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar across my forehead, thanks."

"I bet you wouldn't." A new voice calls out from seemingly nowhere. "Your face is already foul enough without it. I personally think it'd be an improvement."

Harry smirked as Malfoy spins around, sneering despite the bright red flush spreading across his cheeks. "Shut up DeMara! This is not your concern."

"Actually, I think it is my business, since _you_ decided that everyone in the courtyard should know what an ass you are." Colin and Ron erupt into snickers as the voice draws closer, a note of amusement clear in it. Harry, who's full out grinning by this point, catches sight of the person behind these remarks. There is the girl from Flourish and Bolts, standing just a few feet away from the group with her arms crossed. "Honestly Draco, didn't you say last night that picking fights in the open was a Gryffindor trait?"

"You don't get to call me that." Malfoy snaps, his face flushed a bright red. "Only my friends do."

"Aw. You wound me." She pouts, putting a hand over her heart. "And here I was, thinking I was doing what _true_ friends would do. Be _honest._ "

Malfoy snarls as Harry, Colin and Ron burst into laughter. Hearing this, Malfoy turns on them: "You think this is funny? I suppose it is hilarious that _brave_ Gryffindors have to be defended by a sorting mistake."

The three boys stop laughing. "What are you saying Malfoy?" Harry demands, green eyes narrowing. The girl, however, just snorts.

"Sorting mistake? That's the best you've got. Honestly, Draco, I just thought I could stop you from making a bigger fool of yourself. It looks bad on the rest of us, you see."

"Us?" Ron echoes, his eyes darting from Malfoy to the girl. His eyes rest on her for a long moment, eyes narrowed in a way that makes Harry frown in concern.

"Ron?"

Without warning Ron's eyes widen; the red-head recoils as if he had been burnt before whipping out his wand. "What kind of game are you two playing at?" He growls, making the girl's smile drop and confusion to settle in the storm of her eyes while Harry steps forward in hopes of preventing a disaster.

"Game?" She repeats, "What game?"

At the same moment, Harry tugs on Ron's arm. "What's wrong with you? She was just – "

"She's a snake Harry!" Ron snapped, trying to shake the green-eyed boy off. "She's a bloody Slytherin!"

"What?" Harry blurts out, dumbfounded. Still gripping Ron's arm, he faces the girl, his eyes traveling down to rest on the crest on her robe. Sure enough, there is a green serpent. He meets her storm eyes then. Too confused, too shocked to say anything except: "What?"

It does not help that the girl looks just as confused as Harry; or that she asks in disbelief: "Yeah, so? What does that matter?"

Malfoy and Ron both open their mouths to argue only to be interrupted by none other than Lockhart. The man seems to have made it his personal duty to make Harry's day just that much more tiresome by forcing him into posing for a picture with him. Lockhart then decides that he should give Harry more _'advice'_ by calling the green-eyed boy 'bigheaded' before leaving the gaping boy inside the castle. Flushed with embarrassment and feeling a headache coming on, Harry starts to make his way to Defence. However, he turns back for just a moment when he feels a pair of eyes on him. Sure enough, it's the girl. Again Harry feels disbelief well up within him; this time accompanied with an sudden burst of anger mixed with regret. Something of it may have shown on his face, because the girl's eyes seemed to dull and she looked… _hurt._

Guilt wells up inside him at the sight, but Harry stubbornly forces it away. _'She's a Slytherin.'_ He tells himself firmly, clenching his jaw and turning away. He tries in vain to ignore the fact that her accusing stare is digging into his back.

-O-O-

That night in the common room, the golden trio had their first argument.

"Bloody Lockhart!" Ron snaps, throwing himself into one of the comfy chairs by the fire with a scowl etched on his features. "What the hell was Dumbledore thinking? He can't even teach!"

"Everyone makes mistakes Ronald." Hermione chastises as she and Harry take a seat. The dark haired boy tunes out the conversation as the other two begin to bicker, staring at the fire in deep thought. _'How could she have ended up in Slytherin? She didn't seem to be anything like Malfoy...'_ Then another thought occurs to Harry, and it makes him feel rather unwell. _'But then, I'm not like Malfoy either and I was nearly sorted there...'_

"Even the sorting hat?" Ron challenges, making Harry's eyes snap towards him.

Hermione looks confused for a moment, and then a scowl sets on her features. "The girl was defending you Ron. Never mind the uniform…"

"I will mind anybody who has a bloody snake on their chest!" Ron snapped, face beginning to turn red. "And who's to say she really was defending us? It was probably a trick…"

"What kind of 'trick'," Hermione begins, making air-quotes with her fingers. "Could come from defending someone?"

Ron huffed. "Obviously they wanted to make it look like Gryffindors couldn't defend themselves…"

"No offense, but always telling Malfoy to 'shove off' is hardly a defense." Hermione tells Ron with a raised eyebrow, raising a silencing hand when the irritated red-head opened his mouth to speak. "And, I'll have you know that she sat on the stool for _three minutes_ before she was sorted. Obviously, there's more to her than _just_ a Slytherin; which, by the way, means that she's cunning and ambitious, _not_ evil."

With that thought provoking statement, Hermione picks up her bag and bids goodnight. As soon as she is out of earshot, Ron murmurs quietly: "Same thing isn't it?"

Harry subconsciously clenches his fists; a sudden, unexplainable anger and surety raging through him. _'No. It isn't.'_

 _-o-o-_

 _Earlier that day - Malfoy_

 _-o-o-_

Draco Malfoy is miffed. One of his own housemates had the nerve to embarrass him in front of Potty and Weasel. Worse, said housemate was the newest addition and had to be a mistake to boot. After all, why would she defend Gryffindors if she was not? _'Hell,'_ Draco realized sourly as she answered a question in potions quickly yet perfectly with her accented voice rolling out the s's and r's, _'She's not even British!'_

Malfoy keeps fuming silently for the rest of potions; subconsciously shooting glares at DeMara's back every few minutes. However, at one point she catches his gaze and has the nerve to bloody smile at him. Yes, a smile! Not a sarcastic, or rude one either that was typical of traitors. No, a real _genuine_ smile! Draco only realizes he is staring after Vincent pokes his arm, muttering: "Draco, the cauldron's smoking. Is it supposed to be doing that?"

Snapping out of it, Malfoy hurrys to fix the problem by adding a little bit more unicorn hair and stirring clockwise twice. Letting out a breath of relief when the potion turns into its proper colour, a dark starry blue. Barely a second later, Malfoy tenses when he hears something that sounds suspiciously like a restrained laugh. Spinning around in the direction of the sound, Malfoy's cheeks flush when he spots DeMara snickering at her table. As if that is not enough, she catches his eyes again and bloody _winks_ at him!

What in Merlin's breezy robe was that hat thinking?!

-o-o-

That night, Draco unwittingly got a piece of an answer.

The Slytherins are all sitting in the common room after dinner when Draco gets undeniably bored. Seeing DeMara curled up in an armchair a little way from him reading a rather thick looking tome, the blonde quickly decides that she would be a great source of entertainment before bed. Standing from his seat, Malfoy makes his way over quietly and when he's within arms reach, snatches the book from her hands. "What're you reading DeMara?" He inquires haughtily, flipping the book over so that he can read the contents. When she says nothing, storm eyes gazing at him intensely, he raises an eyebrow in challenge. "Are you trying to find out how to get re-sorted?"

Still, the dark haired girl does not respond. Hiding his frustration, Draco casts his gaze down toward the book. His gray eyes widen in disbelief at seeing the familiar old language of Latin. "You understand this?" He whispers, so dumbfounded that he forgets to conceal the awe in his voice. She is muggle-born, right? Why would she learn this language? How would she learn?"

"Yes." DeMara answers shortly, to the point. When Malfoy meets her gaze, she smiles cheekily. "Obviously, I would have to know a language if I intend to read a book written in said language."

At the comment, Malfoy feels his face flush with ignition. His embarrassment causes him to speak without thinking. "I just don't get how a mudblood like you would have the education to know something useful." This time, Malfoy gets what he wanted. The smile melts from DeMara's expression, and her eyes flash while her fists clench at her sides. Draco barely manages to conceal a smile: a reaction, at last.

Suddenly, DeMara stands up, moving forward so that they are nose to nose. She stares at Draco; the harshness of her gaze nearly making him take a step back. After a moment, she speaks slowly. "I don't like that word, Draco. This time, I'll let you off easy because you clearly don't have the brain capacity to figure that out on your own. But, if I hear something that _foul_ come out of your mouth due to your own insecurities towards me or someone else again I _will_ make you regret it."

The book is roughly pulled out of his grasp as Malfoy gapes at her, too stunned to do anything but watch as she begins to step away from him. Then, she turns back: "I had expected better from the house of cunning and ambition; and I'm sure Slytherin himself did too."

Although his eyes harden and his jaw clenches stubbornly, Malfoy cannot bring himself to say how obnoxiously _Gryffindor_ her actions are. He is a Slytherin and - sorting mistake or not - DeMara is an unknown variable. So, while her threat hardly fazed him now that the inital shock had worn off, it would do perhaps to tread carefully.

* * *

 **Quotes from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Chapter Gilderoy Lockhart: **"Jealous? Of what? I don't want a foul scar across my forehead, thanks."

 _Hoped you all enjoyed this chapter. Feedback in any form is welcome._


	5. Apologies, Legends & Bias

**Disclaimer: See all previous chapters. **

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_"If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month."_ \- Theodore Roosevelt

 ** _-O-O-_**

It is Saturday, five days have passed since the incident in the courtyard and no - Harry certainly has not been keeping track. He also had not subconsciously taken to trying to catch DeMara in the halls after shared classes without success.

Alright, that is a load of rubbish. Harry had done all those things, _is_ doing it even as he marches with the team to the change-rooms despite knowing that it is unlikely for the girl to be up at this ungodly hour. Still, it did not hurt to look. Although, he still manages to feel some minor disappointment when he makes it all the way to the changing rooms without catching any glimpses of the girl.

He owed her an apology. Really, he did. She had been nothing but kind to him from the moment he met her and he turned his back on her just because of the uniform she wears. The very same uniform he could have been wearing, if the hat had not listened to him.

He frowns, staring at the back of his locker. That realization had knocked some sense into him - along with another that made him feel sick to his stomach - because, in a way, had he not treated her for her uniform in a similar fashion that the Dursleys treated him for his magic? Both things neither of them could control.

Just being reminded of the thought makes him gag slightly.

But, when Wood calls for them to: "Bloody hurry up already!" He pushes all those thoughts to the back of his mind so that he can focus on the _long_ briefing this promised to be.

It is a good thing he did, the meeting lasted for over _three hours._

Honestly, Harry is just glad when he finally kicks off from the ground and can feel the morning air on his face. The feeling lasts for about three minutes before the Slytherin team shows up.

 **-O-O-**

Harry narrows his eyes as Malfoy and Flint brag about the team's new Nimbus 2001's, feeling a small twinge of satisfaction when Hermione takes Malfoy down a few pegs. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. _They_ got in on pure talent."

Malfou sneers: "No one asked for your opinion, you filthy..." Suddenly, Malfoy cuts off, his gaze focusing on something behind Hermione. Harry's eyebrows furrow, noting how the rage slowly melts from the boy's expression to be replaced with some traces of nervousness and gritted teeth. "Nevermind. Let's go, guys." He says with a note of finality, turning to his teammates who look just as confused as the Gryffindors before marching off with them to the pitch.

Bewildered, Harry turns in the direction Malfoy had been looking in. For a split second, his breath falls short. After five days, DeMara stands feet from him with her arms crossed, watching the Slytherins enter the pitch. After a minute, even from the angle he's looking at her, Harry swears he sees a small, pleased smirk quirk up her lips before she faces the opposite direction and walks away whistling some tune.

Even as she walks further and further away, Harry can only gape openly - because he is not quite sure _what_ he had just seen.

"I thought for sure - " Ron mutters from nowhere, quickly stopping himself when Hermione turned towards him. "Um..."

"I know." Hermione responds, making tear Harry tear his gaze away from the spot DeMara had been standing to look between his two friends with furrowed eyebrows.

"What are you guys talking about?"

Hermione pauses, staring at Harry nervously while biting her lip. After a minute, she says: "We thought Malfoy was going to call me a mudblood."

"A what?" Harry asks, listening intently when Hermione explains some rubbish about 'dirty blood.' Rubbish, DeMara somehow had stopped Malfoy from saying...

Honestly, the girl just got more interesting every time he saw her.

 **-O-O-**

The rest of September passes by quickly without much else exciting occurring. Although Harry has to go to bed earlier due to Oliver Wood's Quidditch practises that take place at the crack of dawn. Besides that, nothing interesting happened…

But that is not to say some people were not interesting.

Ever since seeing her at the Quidditch pitch that day, DeMara had unknowingly completely captured Harry's interests. It is not that there was anything particularly special about her. She did well in class; her answers simple: obviously not recited straight from a textbook, but effective. Other than the incident with Malfoy, he never once heard one of the other Slytherins calling her names or her picking fights with them for any reason. For the most part, DeMara faded into the background.

However, there was one thing that kept her from disappearing entirely.

No matter which house they belonged to, by October DeMara seems to have no shortage in people who wanted to talk to her. Harry had seen her debating with several Ravenclaws in the library. One day by the lake, he walked past her chatting with Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones of Hufflepuff, twisting Susan's red hair into a fancier braid (he thinks it was a braid) than Harry had ever seen. In class he had seen her seated next to her housemates Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, all smiling cheerfully. Upon seeing it for the first time Harry had to do a double take. He had not even known those two _could_ smile.

Then, there were the Wealsey twins. Harry did not know how, or why, or even if he wanted to know, but DeMara had somehow managed to attract the undivided attention of the (in)famous pranksters of Hogwarts. By mid-October Harry frequently saw them leaving the Gryffindor table at lunch when she entered the great hall, steering her right back out the door while talking cheerfully. When he asked them about it, the twins could only smirk. "Jealous Harrykins, that we like other ickle second years? Don't worry, you're still number one." Fred said.

"Although, Ron may take fourth to Hermione and Angela. Such a shame she couldn't be in our house." George continued with a wistful sigh. They refused to elaborate further.

The Twins were not the only older students who seem to have taken an interest in the young Slytherin. On the eighteenth of October there was quite a stirring among the student population and even the staff when DeMara had walked towards the Slytherin table for dinner only to stop a table short and take a seat next to Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff. More shocking, the boy's response was a smile along with the offer of chicken.

Since then, DeMara's habit of table hopping had only continued.

Harry would have been more concerned with his knowledge of all this if it was not for the fact that, while not necessarily the main focus of school speculation and gossip, everyone in his year was talking about it. However, the fact that he had unconsciously developed a habit of peeking over at the girl during the classes they shared every once and a while did not miss his two friends notice.

Hermione, who had discovered this first, kept silent about the whole thing. She was well aware that Harry did not realize what he was doing and honestly just hoped the boy would resolve whatever it was he felt towards the Slytherin girl.

Ron, however, is not so thoughtful when he finally realizes Harry's unusual habit.

"Bloody hell Harry!" The red-head practically yells, making the black haired boy half jump out of his seat while the rest of Charm's class turns to look at the commotion. Oblivious to the audience, a scowling Ron continues his tirade. "Can you stop staring at DeMara for a _minute_ so I can practice!"

It takes a second for the red-head's words to sink in, but when they do it causes quite a stir. The class begins to whisper among themselves: "Potter's been looking at DeMara?"

Then, the giggles and chuckles start when Harry denies nothing and his cheeks twinge an interesting shade of pink. "He has!"

"Maybe he likes her?"

"That's adorable…"

"Angela, you've got yourself an admirer!"

Thankfully, Flickwick manages to get the class to quiet down rather quickly but the damage is done. Harry's cheeks are uncomfortably hot and he wants nothing more in that moment than to have his invisibility cloak. Despite his embarrassment, he has no qualms about shooting his friend a glare: "Thanks Ron."

Squirming under the green-eyed boy's harsh stare, the red-head stubbornly holds his ground. "Sorry Harry. But, you wouldn't stop!" To his credit, this time he said this in a harsh whisper that went unheard by anyone else.

Harry maintains his glare for another minute before relenting. "It's fine." It was, really. So why did he still feel annoyed?

Unaware of his friend's inner feelings, Ron proceeds to practice the color change spell on Harry. When class ends, Harry steps out just a little behind Ron and Hermione not knowing whether to be exasperated or amused when the later started to lecture the former about not being a prat. A tug on his sleeve had him instinctively turning to his right; storm eyes made him stop in his tracks. "Um -" The green-eyed boy stammers, words lost as the familiar embarrassment from earlier came back to him. It's worse, actually, because this time DeMara is gazing at _him._

He shifts nervously at the intensity of it, heat rushing to his cheeks. He knows what he should say, what he has _wanted_ to tell her for a long while. His lips part, the words practically burning the tip of his tongue – but for whatever reason his voice had abandoned him when he needed it most.

DeMara's lips twitch slightly at the corners. "It's ok Harry."

Her voice is soft, yet it impacts him like a bludger to the gut. His eyes widen, and his mouth opens again to say something, _anything._ By the time he manages to say "Wait…" DeMara has hurried off down the hall.

 **-O-O-**

 _October 31st 1992_

 **-O-O-**

 _'Great…'_ Harry thinks sarcastically, green eyes flickering from the blood on the wall to the crowd of dead silent students gathered around. Harry sighs, knowing all too well how this looked, even without the fact that he had heard a voice that one one else could hear. _'There goes any chance of a normal year.'_ Even after Dobby had warned him and after the blocked doorway incident, the relatively calm year at Hogwarts had made Harry think that maybe, just maybe Luck might be on his side.

Luck must not have appreciated the assumption.

Really, must everything happen on Halloween?

"Enemies of the Heir, beware!" An all too familiar voice shouted from the crowd, effectively snapping Harry from his thoughts as he focused his gaze on a grinning Malfoy. The blonde looked at Harry, then at Hermione; his eyes alive with a feverish excitement. "You'll be next mudbloods!"

Harry only a sees a quick flash of red light coming from the right and suddenly Malfoy is grasping his stomach, grin wiped off to be replaced by a grimace of pain.

Confused, Harry cranes his neck to see where the light came from only to find a mass of whispering students...except for one. Just to the right of Malfoy, DeMara's face can be seen through a gap in the crowd; there is no smile on her lips, a cold look in her eyes and a general _serious_ aura surrounding her. It is slightly unnerving; Harry had never seen her angry before.

Malfoy - seeing where Harry is looking - turns and scowls at DeMara. His mouth parts to say something only to be cut off by Hogwart's notorious caretaker's angry shouts: "What's going on here! What's going on?"

From there on, Harry got a peculiar sense of dejavu.

It was like the philosopher's stone all over again. Everyone was wondering what exactly was the Chamber of Secrets, and why it seemed to unnerve the teachers so.

The answer Binns gave in class only heightened the need to know for Harry, Ron and Hermione. Unfortunately, it also made them believe any bit of information they got. "I never knew Salazar started all this pureblood stuff. I wouldn't try to be in his house if you paid me…" Harry was beginning to feel a little unwell, when Ron suddenly stumbled and nearly fell onto Harry. "What the bloody…" Ron began, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace.

"You do know that Legends aren't completely accurate right?"

Green eyes flicker upwards to see DeMara standing in front of them with her lips pressed in a firm line. Harry managed to give her a smile before Ron was standing straight again, a scowl on his lips. "What do _you_ want?"

"A lot actually." DeMara started, ticking off her fingers: "I want a chocolate house, a broom, another book on Defence and for people to stop making false judgement based on biased information."

"Biased." Ron repeated slowly.

The girl nods. "Yes, biased. Meaning being ignorant of other sides to an argument or just not caring."

"I know what it means!" Ron seethes, his red face snapping Harry from his surprise.

"Look, Ron, maybe we should hear her out…" the green-eyed boy says cautiously, wincing when Ron looked at him like he had grown three heads. Still, he holds the red-head's gaze determinedly. He owes the girl this much.

After a minute Ron deflated, and Hermione, always one to look for new information, took that as her que: "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you were right Granger, Legends are often based on facts. So, whose to say that even if the chamber _does_ exist, that its true purpose was lost due to a load of prejudice?" The storm-eyed girl paused; her words making Hermione and Harry thoughtful.

The same could not be said for Ron. "Please. What other purpose could there be for having a monster in a school full of kids that Slytherin didn't want around?"

"Um – to defend the school?" The girl said pointedly, cutting Ron off as he opened his mouth. "You forget that this school was made a thousand years ago; during that period the wizarding world wasn't concealed and magic was beginning to be seen as evil. You heard about the witch burnings, yes? They weren't all able to perform a freezing charm, especially not children." She paused, giving Ron the perfect opportunity to speak. The red-head could only stare at the girl, opened-mouthed, his skin suddenly deprived of much of its color. "Now, think of what would happen if a muggle family saw their own children performing something they considered to be the work of the devil. Do you think they would jump for joy? Maybe give them some sweets?" The storm-eyed girl shook her head. "Is it not possible that Salazar was trying to _protect_ those kids by _not_ sending them a letter inviting them to a _magical_ school that would be a dead giveaway to angry villagers who is the one performing the 'evil deeds' around the villages due to accidental magic?"

She stopped, while Harry's mind reeled.

 _'It does make sense.'_

Hermione seems to be thinking the same thing, for her inquiry is full of curiosity. "So, you think the monster was there in case the muggles found Hogwarts and tried to attack it?"

DeMara nodded. "Why not? It would explain why none of the other founders found it. Maybe they weren't looking for it because they knew where it was."

Hermione hummed in agreement while Harry nodded. It made sense…

"Then why would they kick out Slytherin?" Ron snaps suddenly, making Harry and Hermione turn to him. The later wore a confused frown, while the former narrowed his eyes with a sudden bout of annoyance.

DeMara, however, merely sighed. "If you were paying attention, Weasley, Binns said that Slytherin _left_ the school. Nobody kicked anyone out. In fact, I've read some stories that say that the founders were quite saddened by Salazar's leaving and tried to bring him back."

"Even if that is true, then how do you explain the attacks?" Ron scoffed.

DeMara smiled slyly. "Prejuice goes both ways, Weasley, and power is usually gained through fear. Obviously someone within the past thousand years twisted the truth to suit their needs. Whether they were part of Slytherin house or not is debatable. But what I just told you is the only explanation as to why the founders didn't close the school and tear it down stone-by-stone until they found the monster that would have been so dangerous to its students." She allowed that to sink in for a moment, then turned Hermione. "Nice meeting you Granger, I hope we can talk again sometime." Hermione looks stunned for a minute, then returns the girl's grin unsurely. DeMara faces Harry. "Nice seeing you."

"Nice seeing you too, DeMara." Harry replies with a smile.

The girl's expression softens to something that may be considered shyness: "Call me Angela, we know each other well enough."

"Angela." Harry agrees, something warm fluttering in his chest.

With those parting words and a pleased grin, DeMa - Angela leaves.

For the rest of the day, not even Ron's weird looks or angered mutterings could dim Harry's spirits. Although, he did wonder why Hermione kept raising her eyebrow with a weird smirk playing up her lips.

Honestly, it was like she knew something he didn't.

Then again, it is typical of Hermione to know quite a lot more than Harry.

* * *

 _Feedback is greatly appreciated._


	6. Living, & Hermione's Brilliance

**Disclaimer: See previous chapters.**

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 _"I know where I'm going and I know the truth, and I don't have to be what you want me to be. I'm free to be what I want."_ \- Muhammad Ali

 **-O-O-**

 _'Why is it..._ ' Harry wonders idly from his place in the hospital bed, _'that the only thing that has threatened my life just as much as an insane baby-obsessed Dark Lord is the sport I love playing?'_ Naturally, like most things in his life, Harry has no answer to this. The green-eyed boy had learned long ago that while he may ask these questions in his mind, in the end he can only grin and bear through the lack of answers.

Although, as the bones slowly began to regrow in his arm (which is thanks to Lockhart - not Quidditch) - Harry finds himself doing a lot less grinning and a thousand times more bearing. It didn't help that Madme Pomfrey (despite the medi-witch's good intentions) had kicked out the Gryffindor team and his friends a few hours earlier. Now Harry lies in the steadily darkening hospital wing, bored out of his mind and unable to sleep with nothing to distract him from the pain in his arm.

When Harry shifts his position for the thousandth time in the hopes of getting more comfortable - he hears a creak that makes him look up. The Hospital's wing's doors are now partially open, making Harry swallow uneasily as he briefly wonders if Madam Pomfrey would return to find him petrified... "Harry? Are you in there? It's Angela." The girl's voice is soft, and Harry feels himself relax as she pokes her head around the door to look around cautiously.

"Yeah." Harry responds back after a moment, feeling a sudden smile spread across his face as she meets his gaze. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey is gone to dinner - if that's what you're worried about."

After hearing this, the girl wastes no time in nudging the door open and walking across the room towards him. "Thank god. I wouldn't have liked to be kicked out after trying to make my way up here without being caught." She says with a smile as she sits on the edge of his bed.

Harry frowns: "Why would you need to worry about being caught -" He stops, realization dawning on him when he catches sight of her raised eyebrow and the silver and green tie she holds up pointedly. "Oh..."

"Yeah. Seems I came at the worst time to be a Slytherin." The girl mutters with a roll of her storm eyes; although, her mood quickly brightens as she taps Harry's good arm. "But - apparently I came at the best time to see some bad-ass seeker moves. Seriously, Draco never stood a chance..."

Harry feels his face heat up at the girl's compliments. While it wasn't anything he had never heard before, it was different coming from someone who did not need to support him out of loyalty to the house or team. In a certain way...it seemed more genuine. "Thanks. He says quietly, his smile soft as he looks at her.

"You are all right though? Madam Pomfrey can fix you." The girl asks with furrowed eyebrows; "Even after what Lockhart did..."

"Yeah, I just had to take some Skel-Grow." Harry informs her, pointing to the bottle at his bedside. "Foul - but effective if the needles in my arm are anything to go by."

Angela sighs, eyeing Harry oddly. "How is it you've got such a high pain tolerance? Most people in our year wouldn't be able to carry on a full conversation, let alone catch a snitch with a broken arm." To that, Harry doesn't reply, only glances down. "Harry...?" Angela mumbles, concern evident.

"I appreciate your concern Angela - but, I'm fine." Harry speaks finally, trying not to sound too flustered or frustrated as he meet's the girl's eyes that gaze at him with too much knowledge for his liking. "Really, I'm fine..."

Angela still doesn't relent her gaze. Two minutes later, Harry's eyes are beginning to sting from the stare-off when the Slytherin girl finally breaks eye-contact and reaches into her pockets to pull out two closed fists. "Pick one."

"What?" Harry blurts out, taken aback by the girl's sudden actions.

In response, Angela tilts her head with a grin. "Pick a hand Harry, unless you're scared?"

 _'Girls really are weird.'_ Harry thinks with a roll of his eyes, though regards each closed fist thoughtfully for a moment before choosing the right.

Angela opens her palm to reveal a small, dark green covered wrapping. Taking it, Harry opens it up to find milk chocolate and takes a bite. He nearly groans when a sweet cream fills his mouth. "What is it?" Angela asks excitedly, opening the other hand to reveal a dark red wrapping.

"Don't know - but it's amazing." Harry says dreamily, sucking on the rest of the chocolate slowly as Angela pops hers into her mouth. "Where'd you get these?"

"Daphne Greengrass gave them to me." Angela admits. "Apparently her father is in Paris and sent her a bunch of sweets along with a new scarf."

Harry swallows the rest the chocolate, grateful that the taste remains on his tongue: "Really? That's neat." Harry frowns, a sudden thought occurring to him. "What do your parents do?"

"I wouldn't know." Angela states with a shrug. "I was raised in foster homes since I was three."

Suddenly, the chocolate doesn't taste so sweet. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. My mom either gave me up because she thought I'd have a better life or because she didn't want me. Either way, my life is good despite it." Angela tells him sincerely with a small smile, which fades at Harry's expression. "I'm sorry - I shouldn't..."

Harry looks up at the girl sharply. "Don't be sorry." He repeats, a shocking amount of anger in his voice. "Don't ever say your sorry for being able to have that kind of outlook on things like that...just -" he falters, seeing the expression of shock on Angela's face and lowers his gaze to stare at the sheets. "Just don't be sorry. It's a bit of an insult to people who can only wish they can see that like you do."

They sit in silence for a long while; strangely comfortable despite Harry's outburst. After a while, Angela's voice breaks it. "I should go." Harry nods but does not look up as her words are followed by a creaking of bed-springs and shoes touching the floor. A few seconds pass with only steady breathing, then Harry looks up into storm eyes when a hand squeezes his good shoulder in comfort. "I know I probably don't have the right to say this - but I'm pretty sure your mom didn't save you because she wanted you to be a hero Harry. She just wanted you to be happy."

She pauses as Harry gapes at her, his mind reeling so fast he almost doesn't realize the question he's blurting out: "What - why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't think you realize that you don't owe these people anything Harry." Angela says quietly. "You and your mum got rid of Voldemort for _twelve years_ while the entire Ministry couldn't. You made their lives easy and possibly saved hundreds more; most probably our school-mate's parents." She pauses again, eyes stormy. "You don't need to live up to their expectations of you; you just need to _live."_

Her words are punctuated with another light squeeze of his shoulder before she says: "Get well soon." and leaves.

For sometime after she leaves, her words spin around and around in Harry's head along with one of Harry's own observations. She is the only person other than himself and Dumbledore who he had heard speak Voldemort's name.

With this thought, he falls asleep to be awoken hours later by Dobby and the arrival of a frozen Colin Creevy.

 **-O-O-**

Snakes.

He can talk to snakes. Fantastic...really, really just bloody _great._ Naturally this skill could not have been revealed to him a year earlier when he was not being suspected of being the Heir of Slytherin or what-ever rubbish title that comes with being an insane murderer these days.

These are Harry Potter's thoughts as he stares at the ashes that are all that remain of the serpent; not wanting to lift his gaze to see the accusing stares he can already feel burning into him from all over the room. Nonetheless, he cannot help but glance up when he feels a slight tug at the hem of his robes and a soft whisper: "Harry?"

Green eyes flicker uncertainly to a familiar girl with storm-eyes that eye him not with suspicion, but with concern. When he says nothing, she licks her lips, asking kindly: "Do you want to go for a walk?"

What she clearly means is: _"Do you want to escape?"_

There is a pause - filled only with Harry's heavy breathing and worried storm-eyes. It feels strangely heavy, this moment. Harry knows he need only to glance down at the symbol on the girl's uniform to know why .

He doesn't do that. He does not glance back at the sea of red and gold crested people either. Instead, Harry steps down, taking the girl's hand to pull her through the gaping crowd with the full intention of making it to the cool grounds. This is Harry's decision - this is Harry beginning to not care what others are thinking of him. Because despite knowing him for the least amount of time, the Slytherin girl was one of the few people in that room who was not afraid of him.

The grounds are cold - the wind, bitter. But neither Slytherin nor Gryffindor complain as they stroll around the grounds in silence for several moments; frozen grass crunching beneath their feet. They still had not let go of each other's hands. After ten minutes of this, Harry suddenly opens his mouth and begins to talk. First about the stupidity of the rumor mill, second about how he had accidentally set a snake on his cousin last summer, third about his rotten luck...

The words flow relentlessly from the green-eyed boy. Safe, mutual topics eventually give away to a mention of his life at the Durselys (brief and not too detailed) and about how he had nearly been put in Slytherin too and his first year at Hogwarts. He talks, and talks, leaving little room to breath even as cold seeps into his bones. The whole time, Angela just listens. She does not make a comment, or offer her own opinion even when her eyes flash like lightening at mentions of the Durselys and his second encounter with Voldemort.

It is so nice, for Harry. To not be interrupted, to not have have his feelings or thoughts questioned or diminished or talked over. It is so nice - that when he realizes he is telling her about the Polyjuice Potion only when he is halfway done explaining it, he cannot quite bring in himself to be horrified at himself - even when she lets out a laugh at the theory of Malfoy being the heir.

"What's so funny?' Harry asks.

In response, Angela quiets her giggles and responds coyly: "Harry, do you honestly believe twelve year old, spoiled _Malfoy_ would have it in him to set a creature on the school?" Harry can only feel his cheeks flush at her valid point as she continues: "Even if he did, he would have been bragging about it in the common-room as loud as he could. Plus, he also could have easily done it last year while everyone was panicking about the philosopher's stone. Spread everyone a little too thin...'

"Cunning." Harry notes, although, not rudely.

Angela grins: "Well, I am a Slytherin." She pauses then, gazing at him thoughtfully before saying: "Although, I could have easily been a Hufflepuff."

Harry merely blinks as her confession slowly sinks in; then, his jaw sags. "Really?"

Angela nods. "House of the hardworking and loyal." She states with a slight smile and shrug, "However, my ambition may have ended up making the final decision."

"Ambition?" Harry questions, truly puzzled as Angela did not seem overly ambitious to him.

Seeing his expression, the girl smiles softly. "Ambition does not always mean aiming for the best job, or wanting the best for only yourself. Just how bravery does not always mean running into battle with a sword, nor loyalty to never question those you are loyal to, or cleverness can only be related to grades. They are only words Harry, it is up to you to decide how to define them."

Harry can only stare at her, speechless once again.

She shivers, tugging lightly on his hand. "We should get back in, my toes are freezing and your friends will be looking for you..."

"But I'm already with one." He is not aware that he had said the words until she spins around to face him with wide eyes. He feels whatever heat is left in his body rise to his face, but he does not let it deter him this time. "Well, I am, so not _all_ my friends are looking for me."

A smile, bright and beaming slowly spreads across her face. "Oh, Potter..." She sighs fondly, shaking her head in bafflement. "You are something, aren't you?"

He merely shrugs, a grin of his own curling his lips as they shuffle back towards the castle. When they enter the castle doors, Harry realizes something:

He is not a Gryffindor committing treason. She is not a strange Slytherin.

They are just people; friends.

That is how he chooses to define them, and everyone else can just sod off if they have a problem with it.

 **-O-O-**

When Harry finally reaches Gryffindor tower, any anxiety he had felt earlier replaced by a strange sense of peace. Briefly, he laughs inwardly at how peace is a strange feeling to him while adrenaline and the need to survive are uncomfortably familiar.

He is still mentally laughing when he tells the Fat Lady the password and steps into the common room. Almost immediately, he hears Ron and Hermione's heated argument that seems to be growing louder with each word and he hesitates for a brief second before going to walk right back out. Unfortunately, Ron, whose face is as red as his hair, spots him. "Harry." He says, damn near impressing the green eyed boy with all the anger poured into that one word. "Where the _hell_ have you've been?"

"Oh, leave him alone Ronald!" Hermione snaps, "He's allowed to talk to whoever he wants!"

"Not if they're a bloody Slytherin!" Ron hisses, chasing Harry's newfound peace away to give away to anger.

"Who are you to decide that? Huh?"

Ron steps forward, jabbing a finger at himself: "I'm your _friend_ that's who!"

" _Friends_ don't tell each other what to do and act like prats for no reason!" Harry snaps, green-eyes flashing.

 _"Friends_ should tell each other if they can speak _Parseltongue!"_ Ron fired back.

Harry stepped forward, so that he and Ron are only an inch apart: "How could I tell _you_ if _I_ didn't know I could until today?!"

"Oh please," Ron snorted. "You probably told DeMara, Slytherin's would be all into that dark magic..."

" _Ron!_ " Hermione yelled, aghast while Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

 _"Angela_ isn't dark." Harry grounds out, "Maybe, if you weren't so ignorant like you call Malfoy out on, you would see that!"

For a second, Ron falls silent, disbelief and hurt blossoming across his features - however, before Harry can begin to feel guilty, the red-head's fury returns and he yells. "Why don't you go to DeMara then? Hang around the snake pit and see if I care!"

"I thought I was already here." Harry says, shockingly calm, stunning even Hermione. "Everyone already thinks I'm the bloody heir, don't they? And they would probably accuse me again next year if something else happened..."

Ron glared: "So you do choose _her,_ the bloody snake..."

"I'm already hanging around two." Harry states angrily, a realization dawning on him: "Only one trys to disguise itself as a lion before it bites."

Ron actually looks like he had been slapped this time. He reels back, eyes wide while Hermione gapes at Harry, but does not reprimand him. After a long moment, Ron scowls and storms up to the boy's dormitory.

After a moment of heavy silence, Hermione places a hand on Harry's shoulder: "He'll see sense..."

Harry raises a doubtful eyebrow: "Really?"

"Well..." Hermione winces, settling. "Eventually, he's going to have to."

"Maybe. But I'm not waiting a few years for that to happen Hermione." Harry tells her softly, the previous rage he had felt giving away to weary bitterness. Ron had been his first friend - and the Weasley's had been so kind to him this summer...Harry groans, rubbing a hand over his face when he feels something burning behind his eyes. "I just - I just wish he would have given her a chance. Or, at least..."

"Not have let it get between you two." Hermione nodded, squeezing his shoulder with a troubled expression. "That's what I told him. You can't really blame him though, with how he grew up..."

Harry looked up at her, shaking his head: "No. That's no excuse. The twins and other Gyffindor's still like her, or at least, aren't so discriminating." Harry pauses - a thought occurring to him. "You know, the older years aren't as bad with rivalry as we are, except for Quidditch I think..."

"That's probably due to maturity, and having already known each other for a long while." Hermione states with a small smile.

Harry manages to return it briefly before frowning again. "I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't -" The green-eyed boy pauses, wishing he knew how to express exactly how he felt about the splitting group when Hermione regards him with a scowl.

"You have nothing to be sorry for Harry Potter. Some people just grow apart - it can't be helped. Especially when one isn't willing to compromise for the other." The last part is added under her breath, a glare directed at the staircase where Ron had stormed up. Despite everything that transpired and what it can mean, Harry is really glad Hermione has his back in this.

"Did I ever tell you how brilliant you are, Hermione?" Harry asks with a smile.

Hermione snorts, though a faint blush comes to her face at the compliment. "Only constantly. But - never quite enough."

Harry lets out a laugh before sobering , suddenly remembering what Angela had told him about Malfoy. "Hermione - what do you think of this..."

By the end, Hermione is chewing on her bottom lip, a sigh escaping her. "All those rules we broke...only to get information with a lot less hassle." Harry cannot hide his grin at Hermione's declaration, unable to stop even as she narrows her eyes at him. After a few minutes without results, she gives up and admits. "At least you don't have to pretend to be Goyle and I Millicent Bulstrode. We might as well finish the polyjuice and save it for another occasion then."

"Myrtle will be disappointed." Harry comments with a slight wince that Hermione copies.

 **-O-O-**

The next day, Harry never went looking for Justin to explain what had happened in the dueling room. This was not because he had forgotten - but because when he got up early to go down with Hermione, Ron had awaken while he was tying his tie and the red-head proceeded to glare at him darkly before getting up and stomping to the bathroom. It was then Harry remembered Angela's words from his time in the hospital wing and realized that some people would believe what they wanted no matter what he said - so, in the end, he would probably be better off just not caring about it.

Because of this decision, Harry never goes searching for Justin and ends up spending the free period with Hermione in the library after having breakfast with her and Angela (both girls quickly warming up to each other due to their shared friendship with Harry and books.) There, Hermione proceeded to finish her Charms essay and Harry - after some debate - took out his to edit. When they hear a group of people walking towards them, the two look up to see a group of Hufflepuffs talking in whispers before halting at the sight of them and exchanging fearful looks.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek and starts to look down only to hear Hermione snap: "In case you all forgot, I'm muggle-born. So, I think if Harry had wanted to petrify anyone, I would have been the first."

In Harry's opinion, the glare she gives the group is downright _terrifying_ and he wasn't on the receiving end of it. A minute later, the group leaves, and Hermione settles back into her seat with a huff. "Idiots."

"You're brilliant Hermione." Harry says with no-small-amount-of-awe.

Hermione grins. "I know. Now, once you're done adding stuff I want to look your essay over. Merlin knows you haven't shown your true potential..."

An hour later, Harry and Hermione rush out of the library when Peeves starts yelling. They arrive in the hall at the same time as the Hufflepuffs to stare in horror at a frozen Nearly-Headless Nick and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Harry never sees Dumbledore.

Within the next week, the rumors about Harry being the heir of Slytherin begin to die fast within the first and second years (as those were the only ones who bought it) - with only a few clinging stubbornly to the ridiculous belief.

(Fate feels no shame in doing a victory dance as Harry Potter's time-line begins rewriting itself with a new viciousness. Destiny sees it but pretends he doesn't.)

* * *

 **Feedback is greatly appreciated (including constructive criticism, it is very much welcome.)**


	7. Best Christmas

_**Thank you guys for the feedback!**_

 **Disclaimer:** ** _See first chapter._**

* * *

 _"The most important thing is to enjoy your life - to be happy - it's all that matters."_ \- Audrey Hepburn

 **-O-O-**

The beginning of the holidays begins with Harry waking in an empty dormitory. Ron, last minute, had decided to go travelling with his mom and dad to visit Bill after all. The first few days after the separation of the group, Harry had worried what the other Weasley's would think about it and so- had subconsciously taken to avoiding them. However, Fred and George decided that they weren't having any of that and cornered Harry in the common room one day:

 _"Harrykins." Fred had began with a sigh,_

 _"Don't think we haven't noticed you avoiding us." George had cut in._

 _Harry had opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Fred. "Listen Harry - Ron told us what happened..."_

 _"Everything. He more shouted it though, Fred." George informed his counterpart thoughtfully._

 _Fred groaned: "That he did. But -" he carried on as Harry opened his mouth again. "Because Ron is our brother - we know how much of a prat he can be better than most."_

 _"We also know you and Hermione aren't the kind of people to drop friends without a well-founded reason..." George went on._

 _"And, we quite like Angela. So, we just want to make it clear that we don't hold anything against any of you." The two stated simultaneously._

 _Harry had looked between the two, noting the unusual seriousness of their expressions and felt himself deflate with relief. "Thanks guys, for understanding."_

 _"No problem mate." The twins said with identical smiles. "Oh, and Mom and Dad don't blame you either."_

 _When the had two left, Harry had a grin so wide it may have split his face._

Because of this, the holidays are extremely cheerful for Harry. The Weasley's along with Angela would walk with him and Hermione outside and have a friendly competitive snow-ball fights. The Twins and Harry also decide to tell Angela the password so that she can spend time with them in Gyffindor common-room as opposed to being stuck with Malfoy. Hermione did not completely approve at first, and Percy had wholeheartedly agreed with her.

"We have _passwords_ for a reason you know! Otherwise people would just go from house-to-house as they pleased!" The prefect had told them, scandalized.

However, Harry and the Twins insisted: "But it's _Christmas!"_

And they continued to do so...

Harry: "People should be with _friends_ on Christmas. Would you like to be stuck in a room with only Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle for company over what is supposed to be a _cheerful_ time?"

Fred: "Plus, it's her first Christmas at Hogwarts - as prefect, Percy, would you like to be responsible for ruining it?"

George: "Besides, the password always changes after the holidays, and I doubt she would want to come into the lions den then with everyone even if we _did_ tell her the password."

Within a day, their constant badgering had worn Percy down (Hermione had resigned almost immediately due to Christmas spirit winning out over love for rules) and Angela's offer to give the Slytherin password for even ground made the prefect 'see the light' so to speak.

"All right. But any funny business..." He warned the girl, who Harry could see was struggling to keep a straight face even as she nodded respectfully.

"I understand, Sir."

Percy had turned slightly red; still trying to sound stern even as he stammered. "Good..." Though the pleased smile on his face gave him away. Well that, and the fact he didn't complain when Harry, Hermione, Fred, George and Angela (sometimes joined by Ginny) played Exploding snap loudly the whole afternoon and even granted permission for Angela to sleep-over per Hermione's request.

"How do you do it?" Fred asks Angela in a soft whisper once Percy disappears upstairs.

Angela smirks, shuffling the cards: "It's called _flattery_ boys. Master it, and you can get away with nearly anything."

"You know - I really can see how you ended up in Slytherin." George states; although it is with respect rather than scorn. "That is sneaky."

"I still don't get why you two _aren't_ in Slytherin." The girl responds as she deals out the cards. "Your pranks involve a lot of cunning to pull off _and_ get away with. Not to mention the dedication into making some of things you use for them."

The twins exchange a look: "Yeah well, it's a family thing." They mutter, both shrugging after a moment.

Throughout the game - Harry cannot concentrate. For the first time, he wonders if he was not the only one who asked the hat to pick a different house.

 **-O-O-**

Christmas morning, Harry's emerald eyes open to see two grinning girls looking down at him. "Merry Christmas!" The chorus cheerfully, each giving Harry one of the two presents tucked under their arms before handing the other to the opposite girl.

"You didn't have to get me anything, you know." Angela says to Hermione with a smile.

Hermione snorts. "Neither did you have to get something for me; but you did. I'm dealing with it."

Angela laughs while Harry sits up, shoving his glasses on quickly, and tells them both with a toothy grin: "Merry Christmas." Before beginning to undo the bow of Hermione's present.

Just as he does this, Hedwig swoops in with something tied to her leg and gives an affectionate nibble on Harry's ear. Angela lets out a breath: "That's your owl?"

Harry nods, looking over at her as he runs his fingers down Hedwigs back-feathers gently. "Yeah, why?"

"She's gorgeous!" The girl exclaims in explanation, storm eyes gazing at Hedwig appreciatively. "I always saw her flying around. She stood out 'cause of her colouring..." She trails off, turning slightly pink as Harry and Hermione share a laugh at the Slytherin girl's unusual girlishness.

"Well, she seems to like you to." Harry notes with a chuckle as Hedwig coos, looking at Angela thoughtfully with her amber eyes. "Flattery works on owls too then?

"Oh...shut up." Angela tells him - although the effect is ruined by the delighted grin that spreads across her face when Harry and Hedwig allow the Slytherin girl to pet her while Harry takes the note off her leg.

The contents: a matchstick from the Dursley's along with the question of whether or not he could stay at Hogwarts for the summer. Angela, from her angle got full view of the note and scowled. "Maybe you should stay. Or, better yet, come over to my place once I'm settled in."

Harry looks up at that - startled. "You would - you would do that?"

"'Course. I'm sure my guardian won't mind. Besides, what are friends for if not giving you the chance at a decent summer?" Angela says with a grin, turning to address Hermione. "You're invited too of course, if you want."

Hermione smiled, "I would like that."

Harry, on the other side of the bed, was brightening even more at the prospect of being away from the Dursely's. He draws in a breath, feeling something burning behind his eyelids as he looks between the two oblivious girls. ' _Best Christmas ever.'_

And, today it seems, Luck is giving Harry a well-deserved break by making sure it got better.

From Hermione, Harry received a handsome eagle-feather quill. From Angela, a nice green scarf the colour of his eyes and some of those Paris chocolates from her visit to the hospital wing.

While Harry put on his Weasley jumper and Angela's scarf, Hermione opened her presents. Angela got Hermione a book titled: _Prejudice and Discrimination of the Wizarding World from 1200 C.E to Present Day_ and she also received chocolates. The curly-haired witch beamed, allowing both of her friends to take one and stealing one of Harry's as she opened his gift - a pretty, simple gold bracelet with a book and H charm on it along with a bag of mixed candy.

"Nice one Harry." Angela praises as Hermione gushes over the bracelet, before pulling both Harry and Angela a tight hug.

"Now, you open yours!" Hermione tells Angela excitedly, crossing her legs as the storm-eyed girl took Hermione's present and unwrapped it. The smiling girl pulls out a soft midnight blue blanket that is decorated with stars. "You told me how cold it sometimes gets in the dungeons. And I know you like the view we have so..." Hermione trails off as the Slytherin gives her a fierce hug. Beaming, the girl moves on to Harry's gift; opening the box carefully. The girl's jaw drops, and Harry has to fight off a blush as the girl lifts up a silver cuff bracelet made of elegant swirl designs with three small jade stones down the middle.

"Yeah, um...I was going to get you one similar to Hermione's but I wasn't sure what kind of charm I should get you. So I got you that instead." Harry informs her, not knowing why he says it so quietly or why he even feels the need to share it.

Angela, in reply, places the bracelet gently on her wrist before throwing her arms around Harry. "Thank you. I love it." She tells him, sincerity dripping from her. Harry smiles, relaxing so that he can wrap his arms around her.

"No problem." He murmurs back, pulling away with a grin.

The girl beams, before letting out a shout: "Oh! I need to give the twin's their presents! Hang on..." Gleefully, she scrambles off the bed, giving both Hermione and Harry another hug before bolting out the door, yelling: "I'll meet you guys downstairs in a few!"

Hermione and Harry exchange bemused looks. "What do you think she could have gotten them?" Hermione inquires.

"I don't know. But I reckon it'll be something we want to see." Harry states with a wide grin, which Hermione returns.

Five minutes after Hermione returned to her dorm to get dressed, the two are waiting downstairs for Angela and the twins with an odd sort of anticipation. When the three finally come marching down the stairs with their chests puffed out - it is clear that it was well-founded.

Harry and Hermione stare, wide-eyed at the three who look each other over thoughtfully. "You know, I think green is my colour..." Fred states, wrapping the silver and green scarf tighter around his neck with flourish.

"I'll say." George agrees, looking at the tie thoughtfully before turning to Angela with a grin. "Red suits you nicely Angela."

"Why thank you George, I think so too." Angela replies with a wide grin, fixing her slightly large sweater so that the lion showed. "In fact, I think everyone in the hall will think we all look rather dashing in our opposite colours. Shall we go?"

"We shall." The twins say, each offering Angela an arm which she takes with a near perfect poker-face which only cracks slightly at seeing Hermione and Harry's gobsmacked expressions. It is only when the portrait closes behind the trio that the two snap out of their shock to break into laughter.

"I need to see this..." Harry gasps once his laughter is at a manageable level, nearly booking it to the portrait with Hermione on his heels.

 **-O-O-**

Thankfully, they make it to the great-hall at the exact moment the trio do. Upon first glance at the three, no one seems to notice the change in uniform. However, that only lasts for a few seconds before people were doing double-takes and spilling their food over themselves. Professor McGonagle had a particularly interesting reaction; she nearly stabbed Mr. Flickwick's hand while trying to get a sausage as she gaped the the three students who walked the entire length of the hall chatting like nothing was wrong. Malfoy had turned an interesting shade of purple. Hagrid had stared at them all comically before breaking into laughter. Snape did what Snape always does, sneer. Although, not before dropping his fork with a clatter.

The whole day, the three wore their opposite colours, accompanied by a cheerful Harry and Hermione as they discussed possible ways to reuse the idea on a grander scale.

 _'Definitely the best Christmas yet.'_ Harry thinks again as he goes to bed that night with a content smile on his face.

* * *

 _ **Just a nice fluffy chapter before shit goes down...**_

 _ **Feedback (constructive criticism, questions, etc...) are much appreciated.**_


	8. Fate's Optimism

_**Thank you all for the amazing feedback!**_

 **Disclaimer: _See first chapter._**

* * *

 _"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek." - Barack Obama_

 **-O-O-**

Here is a thing about Fate. In this life of Harry Potter, she has decided to pull only one large string. In this life, she did not plan on giving Harry Potter a friend or enemy or lover. In this life, Fate did but one thing to meddle:

Give a blood-purist from the future the means to travel back in time.

Now, this could have resulted in many things. Some humourous, some dramatic, many in between. For example, the blood-purist could have gone back to kill Dumbledore. Or, someone other than Angela DeMara could have wandered into the park. Or, perhaps, nothing would have happened (what a disappointment that would have been!)

But out of the many, many things could have come from it, Fate is quite pleased with the out-come so far. Harry Potter - with help and encouragement from Hermione - has been quite rapidly improving in his classes. Showing potential that makes various teachers who had taught his parents (both highly intelligent and powerful wizards) wonder why he had not shown it sooner.

Then, with influence from Angela and the Twins, both Hermione and Harry have taken to reaching out to those in other houses. While not necessary being able to call such individuals as Hannah Abbot and Blaise Zabbini friends yet, the two Gryffindors quickly come to respect and enjoy their company. The feeling is mutual, and goes a long way in discouraging those who still believed that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin.

Yes, Fate is extremely pleased, and can only anticipate what else is to come when Angela DeMara hears Myrtle's wailing and decides to take a detour on her way to Charms.

 **-O-O-**

 **Moaning Myrtle**

 **-O-O-**

Myrtle is quite miserable.

Well, while that is nothing new, her misery has reached new heights in the past few minutes when someone had the nerve to throw a book at her!

She already is _dead,_ what happened to respecting that at least, if nothing else! Myrtle lets out a fresh wail, causing more water to flood from the toilets. Then, she hears footsteps and pauses, a small smile making its way onto her ghostly face. Maybe it was Harry! Oh, he was so nice...and cute too...

"Hello?" A very feminine voice calls out, instantly shattering Myrtle's mood. ' _Of course, just someone to come make fun of me!'_

However, before the former student can burst into fresh wailing, the voice calls again."Myrtle, are you alright?"

Now, _that_ is odd. Suspicious, but curious despite herself (and wanting someone to vent out her frustrations) Myrtle responds haughtily. "What do _you_ want? Come to throw something else at me?"

In reply, a girl with dark wavy hair steps out into the middle of the bathroom, a frown on her pretty face. "Why would I throw something at you? I just heard you crying and wanted to see what happened."

Her tone is sincere, storm-eyes filled with concern and despite the snake on her robes Myrtle cannot bring herself to accuse the girl of trickery. After all, what reason would she have to pull this whole act if she really did want to make fun of her?

So, without much thought, Myrtle answers the girl's question: "I'm crying because while I was just lying in the U-bend, minding my own business, someone came and threw a book at me." Upon saying this, Myrtle points at the offending object just a little-ways to her left.

The girl stares at the book for a moment - her eyes seeming to widen just a bit before turning to Myrtle. "Well, that's rude. But - is there a chance that maybe they didn't know you were down there? First-years, you know, they probably don't know which toilet is yours. It's still not right, but it may have been an accident."

Myrtle huffs, but ponders over the girl's suggestion for a minute and finds that it has some merit. "But they should still _learn_ or at least throw it in some other bathroom. Not my - my..." Myrtle feels her lip beginning to quiver and just manages to stop herself from breaking down again. It wouldn't do to scare off one of the few people who were nice to her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." The girl says, "But, I suppose you do have a point. People should have some respect for your...home."

Myrtle nods vigorously in agreement. "Yes, they should! They shouldn't throw books or anything in here!"

"Too right." The girl states with a grin. "You know what - how about I take that book and see if I can find out who it belongs to, yeah? That way, they can come and give you an apology."

Myrtle finds this to be a very good idea, although with a flaw. "But what if you can't find out who it is? If they threw it away - they probably don't want it."

"No, but their friends might know. And if they don't, then at least it's out of your bathroom, right?" The girl asks with a shrug, making Myrtle thoughtful for a minute before the ghost nods.

"I suppose. Besides, it _may_ have been an accident - like you said. And first years are quite careless."

The girl laughs. "Yeah - tell me about it." She then walks over to the book, picks it up and places it in her pocket.

During this time, a thought occurs to Myrtle. "Do you know Harry Potter by any chance?"

"Harry?' The girl inquires standing up and regarding Myrtle thoughtfully. "Yeah."

"Can you tell him that's he's welcome to visit whenever he likes?" Myrtle sighs. "It's awfully lonely without him."

The girl eyes Myrtle for a minute before smiling. "Yeah, I'll tell him. He's just got to be careful, you know. This being a girl's bathroom and all - and he's already gotten caught a few times."

"Oh - well, thank you for telling me. And for being so nice." Myrtle tells her with a small smile which the girl returns as she makes her way towards the door.

Before she leaves, the girl says one last thing: "Have a good day Myrtle."

Myrtle sighs: ' _Her optimism is nice. Must come with being alive.'_

 **-O-O-**

 **Harry**

 **-O-O-**

Just before they are to enter the charm classroom, Angela comes up to Harry and tells him. "Hey Harry, Myrtle misses you. It seems you left quite the impression."

"What?" Harry stammers, completely caught off guard. "When did you talk to Myrtle?"

Angela sighs, fixing the strap on her bag. "Just now, I noticed her bathroom was flooded and went to see what happened." She shrugs. "She thought someone threw something at her, so I explained that it might have been an accident."

"Oh - what was thrown at her?" Harry inquires curiously.

Angela shrugs again. "I think it was someone's old diary or something. But when I tried to see who it belonged to, anything that was written was too blotchy to make out. "

"Oh all right then." Harry says, curiosity quickly fading to be replaced with wariness. "What did you tell Myrtle about me seeing her?"

Angela's grin is bloody terrifying. "Oh - just that I would pass on the message. But that it might be hard for you to see her because you have already gotten in so much trouble."

Harry feels relief for a split second, before his eyes widen in horror as Flickwick opens the classroom. "Wait - so she's still going to expect me to _try_ to see her!"

"Aw...Harry." Angela coos, placing a hand on her heart as she begins to walk through the door. "You've learned the fine art of discovering the 'catch.' I'm so proud..."

"Angela!" Harry snaps, panic evident as the girl flounces away to take her seat next to Blaise Zabbini, but not before sending him a cheeky grin.

 _'What am I going to do with her?'_ Harry wonders, trying to ignore the fact that his cheeks are stretching to accommodate his smile.

 **-O-O-**

 **Fate**

 **-O-O-**

Here is something that Fate would like to be cleared up about Truth. Truth is always changing; Truth is also a matter of perception. If two people are involved in a situation, there is a very big chance that, if you ask them about said situation, you will get two different stories. Of course, there are some truths that cannot be changed or bent or muddled - but Fate does not wish to speak of those because they are rare and irrelevant. Just like how prophecies that are one-hundred percent certain to come to pass are rare and irrelevant. (well, to her anyway)

So - since truth and perception are changeable (especially when adding humans into the mix) if a person was to be given a truth potion and asked if they had plans to change the future for example, and the person replied no, they were being quite honest. However, that does not mean that the person a few months _later_ would not or cannot change their mind.

Such is the case of Angela DeMara, who has (unknownst to her) been changing the future with Harry Potter's equally unknowing help ever since she decided to be his friend and he hers. (Perception changes truth, after all, and Harry Potter lacked perception in his original life) Now however, the girl eyes the diary she had picked up in Myrtle's bathroom with consideration.

In her once future - Hermione Granger had written a book about the year the 'Golden Trio' left Hogwarts in search for a way to defeat Voldemort. She wrote about their quest to find the objects that kept the Dark Lord tethered to life: The locket, the cup, the Diadem, his pet snake, the ring...and the diary that Harry had interacted with his second year. The details were brief about each one - Hermione mostly seemed to focus on the effects it had on their creator (madness, need for genocide etc...) - however, there was a common name associated with them: Tom Malvolo Riddle a.k.a I am Lord Voldemort.

The same name that is engraved on the cover of the little leather bound book sitting on her desk.

After much staring and internal debate, the girl goes to bed later that night, having made a decision that most certainly is a willingness to change the future.

(It may come as a shock to many if they were to find out- that the decision was made with the thought of emerald green eyes.)

 **-O-O-**

 **Gildory Lockhart**

 **-O-O-**

Lockhart is writing letters thanking his fans for their adoration one Saturday when he hears a knock at his door. "Come in!" He calls out cheerily, a wide grin spreading across his face when he sees one of his second-year students poke their head around the door.

"Sir? I hope I'm not bothering you, but there was something I wanted to ask."

Lockhart's smile widens (if possible) and he carefully places his quill back into the ink bottle. "Yes, of course. Miss De Mara, is it? Do you want an autograph...?"

"No Sir." The girl responds firmly, although a small smile curls her lips. "Actually, I was wondering if you could help teach me a spell. It's a bit more advanced but I am terribly curious and you obviously know what you are doing."

Lockhart tilts his head, regarding the girl closely. Oh, he knows he acts like an idiot (sometimes almost too well.) But he has an image to maintain, afterall, even if it got on his co-workers nerves. In the long run, being thought an imbecile is much less career damaging than being declared a fraud with evidence after all.

That being said, for what he lacks in spell-work Gilderory Lockhart is quite good at reading people; he has to be. So, he knows full well that the girl's last part of her sentence is a badly concealed lie.

 _'Slytherin...'_ The man thinks, eyes falling on the crest of the girl's robes. ' _This is bound to be exciting.'_ "And what spell do you want help with, exactly?" He asks, still grinning.

The girl walks towards the desk until she is merely a foot from it and smiles charmingly. "Oblivate."

The man feels the blood leave his face. _'Not a lie then...a fact. Slytherin...oh dear...'_ Before he can reach for his wand, however, the girl has hers pointed at him.

"I know the basics of the spell, Sir." The girl speaks, cool as a cucumber with her wand aimed directly between Lockhart's eyes. "I know the theory and the movement - however, I don't know how to remove _specific_ memories from someone without causing severe memory loss." She smiles, a pretty thing really, even with the sharp edges. "I need you to teach me. In return for that, your silence and a vow to not oblivate me when my wand is lowered - I will give you your next best-selling story and not say a word against you."

Lockhart must admit, he is quite intruiged. "What story?"

"How you defeated the monster in the Chamber of Secrets, of course." The girl responds, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Honestly, Lockhart is finding he quite likes her. Perhaps he won't double cross her...

Not that he will have a choice once he's done taking the vow. But, he will make sure she takes one also...

He's hardly surprised when she agrees easily.

 _'Well, the hat certainly knew what it was doing with this one.'_

 **-O-O-**

 _ **One Week Later; Febuary 21st**_

 **Ginny Weasley**

 **-O-O-**

Ginny Weasley, according to her fellow dorm mates, has been acting strange. The girl lately, for some inexplicable reason, has been jumping at every noise, looking warily at passerbys and been so, so _pale_ that some suggested that she go see madame Pompfry.

The young Weasley knows of her friend's worries; and Fate can see the guilt that eats away at the girl for it. So, on this particular day while going to class, Ginny takes the longer route in order to have some space (and maybe...maybe find the diary...) as she has taken to doing more frequently. In this world (any world), that hasn't changed.

However, on this day Ginny is even more distracted than she usually is, and so doesn't see the person coming around the corner. They collide - papers flying everywhere and the girl who bumped into her apologizes as Ginny hurries to collect her things.

A tanned hand offers her some papers, and when the red-head looks up she meets a familiar pair of storm eyes: "Sorry Ginny." The girl repeats, and Ginny has only a second to register that she looks far too sad for just be apologizing for bumping into her when...

Ginny blinks staring up at the Defense Door surrounded by her chatting friends dazedly. "Hey Ginny, are you alright?" Marissa questions, blue eyes filled with concern.

"I'm..." Ginny pauses, feeling like some sort of weight have been lifted from her shoulders, although she can still remember the feeling of it but in the way a memory mostly forgotten is...

She smiles, brighter than she has of late. "I'm fine."

And she is.

* * *

 _ **Feedback is much appreciated.**_


	9. Second Chances Aren't Meant For Everyone

**_This chapter took me forever to write! I had it all down, but I couldn't stop tweaking it._**

 ** _Thank you all for your patience, I hope you all enjoy._**

 **Disclaimer: _See first chapter._**

* * *

 _"Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company." - Mark Twain_

 **-O-O-**

Here's the thing about true Slytherins they think of consequences like Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs while Gryffindors fail. However, like Gryffindors, they are able to say 'damn the consequences' whilst Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw cannot.

However, there is a thing a Slytherin does that makes them belong in the house of cunning. They look for loopholes. They look for _ways-to-get-away-with-it_ if found out so that way they don't have to deal with said consequences. They are good at this, very good.

Almost too good.

The thing they most certainly have in common with the other houses is that their greatest strength can also be a crippling weakness. It is what has made the members belonging to house distrustful of others – as others have become distrustful of them. It makes the more cowardly of the bunch find a way to hide in colours other than green and silver, while the kindest of souls are persecuted for the crest on their chest.

The loneliness of being a Slytherin can lead to bad decisions in a way none of the houses can understand.

So, it is understandable that Fate cannot help but wonder if Angela DeMara's decision she is about to make is much the same.

In another life long ago considered unworthy of Harry Potter, it is the emerald-eyed boy who would have been standing in Myrtle's bathroom. It would have been he who stood staring at the engraving of a snake with the intent to save one Ginerva Weasley many months from now. Ron would have been at his side; Lockhart would have been quaking with fear...

However, in this life, a girl wearing a green tie stands alone. Her jaw is clenched; a dangerous diary hidden in the folds of her robes and carrying a small cage in her left hand containing a sleeping rooster. The castle sleeps, blissfully unaware of the new rip in destiny that is about to occur while Fate watches with wide eyes and bated breath.

The girl speaks a single word in pasaltongue. Her pronunciation is not quite right, the hisses slipping to nonsense so that it takes several tries. Long precious minutes tick by almost mockingly with each attempt - but the sink does open.

In another life, a boy wearing gold would not have known what he was getting himself into but would have taken the plunge.

But this is not that life. This girl wears silver, and is not a boy. Her problem isn't ignorance, but rather that she knows _too_ much of what she is doing. The decision she is making...

The girl takes the plunge just as easily as the boy would have (Fate knows this all too well...)

She is a Slytherin. Her own actions brought her here rather than circumstances. She will not be rewarded; for no one will know. But, Fate thinks that it ought to count for something that - just like the boy- she is also trying to save lives.

Not in the way Dumbledore would approve; but that only made it more entertaining.

And, if Fate makes sure that the basilisk's eyes remained closed while it's home is opened so that the crowing of a rooster kills it in it's sleep...well, no one needs to know.

 **-O-O-**

 _Tom Riddle_

 **-O-O-**

The minute Ginny Wealsey had tried to dispose of the diary, Tom knew. He had been growing stronger due to a diet of the young girl's deepest fears and desires and so was now able to sense things outside the blank pages that held him prisoner.

Unfortunately, the warning had come too late for Tom to put a stop to it. (as much as he loathes to admit, he is still weak...still trapped...) However, the child's attempted disposal of him did come with one perk. At least Tom didn't have to hear eleven year old Ginny Wealsey whining about her petty eleven year old girl problems and how _amazinggreatcutewonderful_ Harry Potter was anymore.

Honestly - he had started to feel sorry for the boy after hearing about the Valentine.

 _Eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad..._

If Tom could shudder, he would.

That being said, Tom had been most curious about the person who picked him up - curiosity which only grew when the individual never so much as wrote their name down. Yet...with some amount of concentration, Tom had been able to sense the peculiar care in which the person handled the diary -

The care - and the constant consideration.

With Tom's limited power, he was unable to detect anything else.

Now, however, he can feel a familiar magic breaching the confides of his leather-bound prison. He breathes it in greedily; clings to as much as he can before it slips away...

Then, his diary is opened, a vibrant burst of red colours the yellowish pages.

Blood.

A feverish excitement takes hold of Tom Riddle as that single drop of blood fuels him more than all of Ginny Wealsey's secrets (blood is life, after all). Then another falls, and another...till Tom is surrounded by splatters and he feels himself grow stronger, stronger, _stronger..._

Violet eyes open to regard the ceiling of a familiar chamber - the place where it all began.

After two minutes of shock - Tom hurries to stand, reveling in actually _feeling_ the cold stone beneath his hands and the air kissing his face. He opens and closes his fists, touching the material of his uniform and for a moment forgets himself and smiles - a true smile, so wide it hurts his cheeks. Lost in his freedom, the boy lets out a laugh and turns to regard the chamber frowning when he sees the large gaping hole which led to the basilisk's home. He opens his mouth to call it, only to be interrupted by a voice behind him: "It won't come."

He spins around, the only sign of his surprise being the jerkiness of the movement. Quickly smoothing down his expression, violet eyes take in the form of a girl, perhaps no older than twelve, standing a few feet away from him with the diary in one hand and her wand in the other. However, what most concerns and confuses Tom is the fact that the wand is pointed at the diary. Tom gazes at the girl steadily, hating that he did not have a wand on him even as he slips into his charming persona: "What do you mean?"

"The basilisk you've had Ginny summon to attack muggleborns isn't here." The girl clarifies making Tom's facial muscles freeze as her words sink in.

But Tom is a Slytherin – in house, blood, and mind. "I'm sorry – I really don't..."

He is convincing. He knows he is – but the girl merely scoffs. "Your Head-boy act won't work on me Tom, or shall I say – Voldemort?" Tom Riddle narrows his eyes, unable to feel shock as anger floods through him. But he never gets a chance to speak as the girl continues: "Although – you aren't him yet, are you? That's good. You might still have a chance to not go insane and loose to a seventeen year old...

She clucks her tongue as Tom fixes her under his intense, gaze her words making him scoff. "You're mad."

"Maybe a little." The girl acknowledges. "I mean, I'm down here with you when I could have easily have set fiendfire to this thing so that you really _will be_ nothing more than a memory." The girl states holding up the diary mockingly making Tom grit his teeth in repressed anger. "But – I'm no where near as mad as you will be, have been – can be..." The girl's brow creases in thought while Riddle stares at her, expression carefully composed even as her words replay consistently in his mind.

He wants to dismiss her ramblings as something to do with her either being confunded or her mind just being afflicted – but then that doesn't explain how she knows about the diary or his chosen name, or how to get into the chamber. He stares at the girl, craving the answers she carried while also wanting to eliminate the potential threat. However, since he did not have a wand and hers is currently pointed at his life-source, he figured he only had one option. "Why didn't you _?"_ He asks, violet eyes holding her sea-storm ones intensely.

The girl does not flinch or back away. "Because I don't want to kill you if I don't have to."

"That much is obvious." Tom cannot help but state dryly, just resisting rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't have bothered to let me out of the diary. But _why?"_ He stresses the last word, even takes a single step forward.

The girl does not make a move to step back, nor does she look afraid. Tom does not know whether to take that as foolish arrogance or a warning that she _would_ be able to cast fiendfyre. "Simple," The girl responds, finally. "I want you to run for Minister for Magic."

While Tom is too dignified to let his jaw drop, his eyebrows do rise in shock. "Pardon?"

"Of course, this is provided you take an unbreakable vow that will strip you of your magic if broken, to not kill and, or torture anyone decent; not reunite with, or help in anyway, your insane counter-part; _and_ renounce blood purity." The girl continues, seemingly oblivious to Tom's dumbfounded expression.

Carefully rearranging his features into an unimpressed mask, Tom crosses his arms: "Why would I do that?" He does not believe the girl's claims on his original's insanity, but the offer is intriguing. Tom is only asking the question because he is curious what the girl's response will be.

It does not disappoint.

"Because your alternative is certain death?" The girl points out, tapping the diary smartly with her wand. "Not to mention, the war will kill off many magic users and do nothing to stop the discrimination and prejudice against certain magic users and branches of magic."

"War?" Tom repeats, not missing the girl's second use of future tense.

She nods: "Yeah, the war that your nose-less counterpart looses to a _seventeen year old."_ The girl seems to relish in the statement, and Tom dearly wishes he had a wand so that he could wipe it off her face. "And believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

"Why? Are you a seer?" Tom mocks - although the notion does seem likely...

The girl smirks. "No. Time-Traveler."

Tom believes he takes this news fairly well considering the circumstances. He does not freeze up, despite the shock that leaves him temporarily mute. He does not call the girl a liar - because claiming to be a seer _would_ have been more probable, and it explains her extensive knowledge of him along with her confidence in speaking in future terms. Instead, for a minute he just stands there, silent. Then, Tom Riddle feels a familiar hunger gripping his insides for knowledge; for unique, _interesting_ objects...

Violet eyes now look at the girl, taking in the way her smirk falters for just a second and the steely determination in her gaze -

Hunger for _challenges._

"Interested now?" The girl inquires; Tom notices how her voice does not waver, how her gaze remains determined, _defiant._

And oh...what he could do if he was able to influence her...

His own spy at Hogwarts was just the tip of the iceberg made of possibilities.

"You could be lying. For all I know, I actually win." Tom barters, because as interesting and useful the girl may be – that does not mean he is about to accept her word completely.

The girl snorts. "Even if your counter-part did, you wouldn't have wanted him to."

Tom scoffs: "I doubt..."

"Tell me Tom, did your original plans include genocide? The unnecessary spilling of magical blood?" She pauses, gazing at him intently as she questions: "Did it include leaving other children to suffer the way you did in the orphanage?"

Tom stiffens, his eyes sharpening like steel as she gazed at him calmly. "Don't be..."

"Ridiculous?" The girl cut him off, raising an eyebrow. "About which part? The orphanage, or your plans to murder anybody without 'pureblood' despite being half yourself." She ends as Tom steps towards her, only stopping when she jabbed her wand at the diary pointedly. "Remember, I'm a bloody time-traveler – so _don't_ _lie_." She whispers softly without breaking his gaze.

Clenching his fists, Tom struggles to keep the anger from his face even though his eyes were already burning. "The later." He practically spits out. "We need new blood or magic will become useless if it doesn't cease to exist entirely."

"Ah – there's that logic Voldemort's missing." She states with a slight smile. "Besides Tom, you know that if you had won I probably wouldn't have even known anything about this diary – or you. He wouldn't have allowed it."

"So why change things?" He asked through gritted teeth.

Her smile just widens. "Because the world is still clinging to it's old prejudices on certain magic and people, not to mention many people died unnecessarily for it. They deserve a second chance." Her smile faded as she gazed into him. " _You_ deserve a second chance."

Tom's anger faded to disbelief, then amusement. Seriously? The girl thought she could 'save him' or other such rubbish? HA! But then again, it could provide him with the perfect opportunity to gain her alliance if he played his cards right...(reluctantly he had to admit she was still above average in intelligence for a typical twelve year old and a time-traveller no less. She would be useful...especially once he found a way around the vow.) Tom lets none of his satisfaction show in his expression, merely cocking an eyebrow: "Minister for Magic you said?" At the girl's nod, he smirks. "All right, what's the vow?"

Seeing the girl's grin makes Tom wonder if he had perhaps found one of the few Slytherins besides himself who truly belonged in the house of Cunning. Although, there is one last thing he wants to know before he is sucked into the diary: "What did you do to the Basilisk?"

I did her a favour. The poor girl lost her mind due to loneliness and hunger." The girl says coolly. "If she didn't kill herself, she would have died from old-age within the next year."

"So along with you joining the dark-side, I'm guessing Dumbledore doesn't know you're an animal killer?" Tom snaps, but does not deny her statement.

The girl rolls her eyes: "Says the guy that neglected her for fifty years."

"You..." Tom hisses, although the rest of his statement is lost as he is sucked back into the diary. Of course, said diary is quickly filled with furious writing that the girl merely sighs at.

"Careful Tom; anger makes you ugly. Believe me, I know."

* * *

 _ **I really hope I got Tom's personality right...**_

 _ **Feedback in the form of constructive criticism, compliment and/or questions are much appreciated!**_


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